The Life and Lies of Cassiopeia Rosier- Regulus Black

.horcrux.

.life asked death, why do people love me but hate you? death responded, because you are a beautiful lie, and i'm a painful truth.

As Slughorn chatted with the last few students, I meandered toward a large cabinet full of photographs. This was his trophy case. All of his prize pupils who had made a name for themselves were featured in large ornate photo frames. Those were the people that he valued the most. Ranging from quidditch stars to the chief editor of the Daily Prophet, Slughorn had an eye for talent, and he collected anyone who might amount to something.

In the middle of the display sat a large crystal vase of delicate white roses. I gently removed one from the vase and ran my fingers along the length of the glossy stem, careful to avoid the thorns.

My surname was French for 'Rose', and as such, roses became a sort of symbol for my family. I always wondered how something so simple and beautiful came to mask something that had such remarkably rotten roots.

"Ah, you have found my dearest collection." A voice behind me bellowed. I turned slowly to see the bright red face of Professor Slughorn.

"You collect roses, Professor?" I questioned politely, gently tracing the soft petals with my fingertips.

"Indeed I do. I charmed these ones here so that they will never die." He seemed quite proud of such a simple thing. "Fascinating things roses are. Did you know that each color represents something remarkably different? For example, give someone a red rose and you might as well be telling them how much you desire them. Whereas giving someone a yellow rose would show how much you value their friendship."

"Wouldn't want to misconstrue a meaning." I jested, shooting him a charming smile. I knew that a lot of potion masters had a curious interest in plants, but being so interested in roses was different. They didn't have much to offer potioneers as far as brewable qualities. It was intriguing.

"No, most definitely not." He chuckled, clutching his shaking belly as he did so. But then he reached over and plucked one of the white roses from the vase and tenderly stroked it. "But white roses, white roses are my favorite. They represent everlasting love. That is why so many people use them at funerals. They symbolize a love that not even death can destroy."

"There were white roses on the casket that we buried my brother in," I remembered, a distant memory sliding into my mind. That was a dark day that I wouldn't soon forget. Rain poured from the sky, filling the freshly dug hole with muddy water.

The smallest caskets are often the heaviest, and that particular casket seemed to hold the weight of the world. That day my family buried more than just a son, I buried a protector, and the first person I had ever loved fiercely.

Slughorn was shocked at such a statement. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the discomfort register across his face as he started to fidget. I continued on quickly, relieving him of trying to find the words for such a declaration.

"His name was Castor. I was so young when he died. There was a lake on the grounds of my home and one day I dropped my doll from the dock. It fell to the bottom and I cried relentlessly, begging him to help me get it back. He wiped my tears and told me not to worry. Then he took off his shoes and jumped into the water to retrieve it. He was under the water for a long time, and I was too young to understand that something was dreadfully wrong. When my parents came down to the water, they were frantic, and I couldn't understand why. That was until they pulled Castor's limp body from the depths of the lake. He had gotten tangled in a mess of gillyweed and drowned." Those were memories that had plagued me every single day. No horror would ever quite compare to seeing the dead body of the brother I had dearly loved.